


A Fragile Gift

by YvesAdele



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Aphenphosmphobia, F/M, I told you, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Soft Fragile, Soft Sam, Sort Of, WEIRD SCI-FI SEX AHEAD, and it's only going to get weirder, and my beta reader is probably like ugh, because I'm irresponsible, having sex via neural transmitters, it gets weird, nonsense sex, not this shit again, scifi sex, supernatural sex, terrible science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvesAdele/pseuds/YvesAdele
Summary: They can't touch each other, but there's more than one way to give your partner an orgasm.Fluffy, smutty, Sam/Fragile goodness. (Higgs will make an appearance too, but I haven't written that chapter yet)
Relationships: Fragile/Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges & Fragile & Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Fragile, Sam Porter Bridges/Fragile/Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. What I'd Give

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up! I realized (a bit late) that there is some slightly ableist language and negative self-talk in the narrative. It's pretty mild, but it's *there." Sam is learning how to use kind words to describe himself, and in the meantime he uses some not-so-kind words. For the most part, this is a very soft fic with gentle, loving themes. Still, those particular words may be triggering to some readers, so please proceed with caution and remember that consent is revocable. If you get uncomfortable, you don't have to keep reading. Take care of yourselves, loves!

Trepidation settles in the pit of Sam’s stomach when Fragile presents the little silver box. Birthday? Anniversary? Shit, he doesn’t remember. He’s never been great at tracking the passage of time, but he was certain no important landmarks fell during this month. He _was_ certain, until Fragile’s mouth twitched into a self-satisfied smile and she said, “I have a gift for you.”

She holds a box in each hand, but she only extends one to him. “Go on,” she says.

Sam accepts it, examining the shiny wrapping. “What is it?”

“You’ll have to open it and find out.”

He motions to the box she’s still holding. “That one?”

“This one is mine.” She clutches it to her chest. “They go together.”

He breathes in relief. Probably some kind of matching jewelry in the boxes then, if it’s a set and they each get one. That means it couldn’t be _that_ important. Or…could it? He really sucks at knowing what gifts are appropriate for what occasion.

“Why?” he asks.

Fragile rolls her eyes. “Because I can.”

Legs crossed before him, Sam sits mirroring Fragile. Their knees are inches from touching – never touching, never making contact, just close enough to feel each other’s presence – and Fragile stares him down like a predator as he picks meticulously at the corners of the wrapping paper.

“Just open it!” she insists.

“Geez, alright.” Sam reluctantly rips the paper. It’s more delicate than he anticipated, and it tears off in one smooth motion. The box inside is matte and black, two pieces, the top of which easily lifts off.

And…

…he doesn’t recognize the items inside. They look like two lumps of metal attached to tiny, clear plates. He looks at Fragile with a questioning expression.

She’s positively giddy. “They’re neural receptors.”

Sam takes one out of the box and studies it. “They came from a brain?”

“No, but they connect to it!” She opens her own box and shows him a matching set, but hers have a little red ring around the outsides of the plates. “Transmitters. I know, I know. It’s a little terrifying, but if this works…” Her voice trails off, hopeful smile plastered on her face as she demonstrates the gadget’s use. She takes one out of the box, sticks it to her temple, then repeats the process with the other. They’re barely visible, even against her smooth ivory skin.

Sam takes only one out, examining it closely. “What _is_ it?”

“They let you feel what I feel,” she says. “I was hoping we could…experiment a little.”

Heat rises to his cheeks at the way she says the words. They have _experimented_ together for a while. It’s difficult to find something comfortable; Sam hasn’t been able to overcome his fears, to let her lay her hands on him, no matter how hard he tries. He’s been able to touch her once or twice, but it’s fleeting, and not long enough for…

…they’ve had the best of luck just lying close to each other, using their words and touching their own bodies. It took a long time for Sam to get comfortable touching himself in front of her, but Fragile was eager to please and to showcase her own pleasure, which helped him learn to be comfortable in his own skin.

Even still, he’s not sure he understands what these little things are supposed to do.

“I don’t get it.”

“Well.” Fragile folds her hands in her lap. “If we’re both wearing them, the receiving pair – in this case, that’s yours – enables the user to feel everything the user of the transmitting pair – mine – is feeling.”

His face glows even hotter. “So…you mean…”

“Sam.” She motions to his box. “If you put those on…and, of course no pressure…but if you put them on, you can feel…everything I do.”

He thinks he gets it. He understands the implications of the device’s ability, but he has a difficult time really registering what it means for them. As a couple.

“So, this little thing,” he holds up one of the nodules, “lets me know what you’re feeling?”

“It lets you _feel_ it,” Fragile says. She shivers and rubs her hands along leather-clad thighs in a _most suggestive_ fashion. “Since we can’t…you know.” She sucks a lip between her teeth, hope glittering in her pretty blue eyes.

How could he deny her? “So what, I just put them on?”

“They’re very easy to work,” she assures him. “They’re not very powerful, and you can take them on and off at any time.”

“You tried ’em out?”

“Heartman helped me test them. Don’t worry,” she smirks, “we didn’t do anything too fun. Just made sure they worked. This isn’t exactly their _intended purpose_ , but nobody needs to know.”

It’s not that Sam necessarily minds if she and Heartman have been engaging in _activities_ together. He understands he’s not the easiest person to be intimate with, considering his physical limitations, but he must admit he likes the idea that Fragile saved certain _uses_ of this device for him, regardless of whether it ends up working. After all, she could easily have normal, physical sex with any of her other partners. His own experience has been rather limited by his condition.

“We can test them out tonight,” Fragile says. “I mean, I know they function, but…it would be fun to see what it’s like.”

Sam’s mouth feels dry, and his fingers tremble as he attaches the first node to his head. She was right; it doesn’t feel like much of anything, akin to a little adhesive sticker against his hairline. He pulls the second one out of the box. “They’re…charged, or whatever?”

“They don’t need a charge. They run on the energy from your body heat.”

“Right. Makes sense.” He doesn’t really get it, but he trusts her explanation enough to stick the next one on. Once the second node is attached, Sam feels…pretty normal. He’s nervous, and his hands sweat, ears burning, but he doesn’t feel anything weird happening via his brain receptors or whatever.

“It can take a few minutes to sync up,” Fragile says. “Heartman suggested simple touches to get the connection warm.”

“Right.” Sam nods. “Is it like, two-ways, or…?”

Fragile shakes her head. “No. I can’t feel what you do, only one way. And if you ever want to switch inputs, I’m…” she laughs. “I’m very okay with that. But for now, for the first time…” She looks sheepish, glancing down at her hands. “I have never been able to make you feel good, Sam. I’d like to do that, if that’s okay.”

God, he wants nothing more than to give her the world. To let her have what she wants. He silently curses his fears, his stupid, broken brain and his stupid, broken body for making him terrified of letting her too close. He knows if he was _normal_ that he’d scoop her into his arms and embrace her. As it is, all he can do is nod like an idiot because she’s somehow, again, found the perfect, most thoughtful, sweet way to express her care for him.

“I don’t know if it will be comfortable,” she admits. “You might hate it. And I want you to tell me if you hate it.”

“I will,” he promises – a bit too enthusiastic. He can hear his own eagerness, which just makes him stare harder at his own hands in his lap, terrified to see that giddy expression on her face again.

“I trust you to know,” Fragile says. She rubs her hands together.

Sam’s next thought is to wonder exactly how much sensation will be transmitted through the device. Right now he just feels like himself. Nervous, excited, strangely close to another person…but just himself. He finally finds it in himself to look up; Fragile is tentatively tapping the ends of her fingers together, like a slo-mo movie villain. It Sam wasn’t so apprehensive, he might have laughed.

“Tell me when you start to feel this,” she says.

It’s only then he realizes that, maybe, he should be focusing on the task at hand. “Alright.”

For a long while she sits like that, slowly tapping fingertip-to-fingertip…until Sam realizes he does feel it. At first it’s faint, like a light breeze or the ghosting, passing touch of tissue paper. But he does feel something in his fingertips…and it’s lining up with Fragile’s rhythm.

“Whoa,” he says.

Her eyes light up. “You can feel it?”

“Kinda.” He lifts his hands to look at them, as though seeing the lack of touch will ground his reality. It doesn’t, just confuses his senses as he continues to feel the featherlight touch against his fingertips.

“Is it okay?”

“I think so.” He flexes his fingers and continues to scrutinize them. Gaging. Nothing hurts, and he doesn’t feel trapped by the sensation. It could be anything touching him, and since he doesn’t register Fragile’s body specifically on or against his it doesn’t set off that _panic_ inside. “Yeah…yeah, this is good.”

Fragile rolls her shoulders back and stretches, which lends an odd relief to his own neck and shoulders…before she cards her fingers through her hair with a satisfied sigh.

Sam is surprised to track the sensation. It’s still weak, but it’s…weirdly nice. Even though she’s wearing gloves still, and he can kind of feel that. Goosebumps rise across his neck in conjunction with where Fragile’s hands rest on her own body. It’s like looking in a delicate, feminine, gorgeous mirror. She works her hands into her hair, and when she softly massages her scalp? _That_ Sam feels. He can’t repress the sigh that passes his lips, causing him to slump and shiver with delight.

“Feels good?” she checks in.

Sam nods, mute and lost for words. It’s like she’s touching him…but not. Fingers running through his hair, soothing, caressing. All of the pleasant parts of contact without the anxiety and terror that accompanies it.

Fragile continues to work her fingers through her hair, rubbing and lightly scratching until Sam is practically a puddle, could probably pass out from relaxation. It only takes a few minutes for the receptors to kick on fully. Every movement, every brush of clothing and shift against the firm mattress is transmitted to full effect. He really does feel everything she feels. It’s strange, really fucking strange, but it’s okay.

“It’s working,” he sighs.

“And you’re good?” she asks.

“I think so.”

“What if I did…” She straightens her posture, one hand coming to rest on her neck and the other ghosting over her cheek. Sam’s eyes flutter closed as the ghost of her touch follows along on his own skin. He has no idea how this is somehow fine, but in that moment he realizes just how much he’s craved it, to let her touch him without recoiling or tensing up or melting down.

“…this?”

His eyes snap open at the sensation of a thumb against his lower lip. It’s gentle and slow, just like when she was touching her hair, but instead of going limp he sits up, a little startled – and something else he can’t quite name yet.

Instead, he just nods, eyes wide, afraid to move any other part of his body.

Fragile stops, taking a long moment to slowly pull off her gloves. Hell, he even feels _that_ , the caress of leather against his own weathered hands. His brain is having so much trouble rationalizing the sensations. For a moment he’s afraid again, watching the gloves fall to the bedspread. But Fragile’s hands don’t come toward him. They return to her own body, and with a silly smile she crosses her arms, hugging her torso tightly.

When he realizes what she’s doing, he can’t help a soft, “ _Heh_ ,” and mirrors the motion. It’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to _hugging_ without him totally freaking out. And it feels _amazing_.

He knew he craved sexual intimacy, but he’d failed to realize how much he needs _this_. The casual, warm touches that friends and lovers exchange all the time. The touches his condition causes him to flinch away from, that damage his relationships with everyone around him.

But not with her.

And he’s still nervous, but it’s blossomed into something nicer, a sort of _anticipation_ rather than a fear. He knows what she’s doing, moving slow, testing the boundaries. It’s an exercise they’ve done fruitlessly a million times. This is the furthest they’ve gotten. He’d be content if it was as far as they could get…but he wants to keep going.

“Are you enjoying this?” she asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“God, yes.” She rubs her hands over her arms, and Sam casts a sheepish smile down at the bed.

“Been a long time,” he admits.

“I know. I wish it hadn’t.”

He only shrugs. He can’t say the things he’s thinking, like how he would gladly wait another decade for the chance to feel as nice again as he does in this moment, experiencing whatever the fuck this even _is_ for the first time. That if there was anyone in the entire world he could just…turn off his anxiety for, it would be her.

She continues like so awhile, gently rubbing her hands over her arms, her neck, her legs. It’s almost too much, but it’s just toeing the line, and Sam can live with that. After not being touched for so long, being totally wrapped in sensation is overwhelming. It’s a good overwhelming, though. He likes it.

He _really_ likes it when Fragile trails a finger along her jaw, down her throat, and slowly dips it beneath the collar of her jacket. It doesn’t look like much, doesn’t read like too suggestive a motion, but his heart rate kicks up because he can _feel_ her intentions, the heat blossoming in her cheeks before the blush rises, her teeth on her lip as she worries it gently from the inside.

“Think we can?” she asks, in a voice that’s sultry and low.

Everything inside of Sam springs to life. His ears burn and his hands go clammy. “I wanna try.”

Her smile stretches, and she slowly shrugs off her jacket. Sam shivers, feeling her body temperature drop at the loss of a layer. The cotton t-shirt underneath follows, and Sam’s again lost for words when faced with her beauty.

She doesn’t see herself the way he does. She’s embarrassed of the aged skin, hides it under long sleeves and in dark rooms. When they’re together, though, she lets him see. Makes herself vulnerable, and perhaps that more than her physical self is what Sam finds so beautiful.

Her weight shifts on the mattress as she awkwardly wriggles out of tight pants, left then only in a set of white undergarments. She tosses the outer clothes to the floor and resumes her previous seating position, legs crossed at arm’s length from him.

Sam’s staring at her for several long, glorious moments before he realizes she hasn’t moved.

“Oh. I should—” he finally moves, reaching for the hem of his own shirt.

“Oh—only if you want!” she says. The words tumble, clumsy, almost like she’s trying to take back the implication that he should also get undressed.

“I—I do,” he decides. He pulls the shirt off and tosses it to the floor. Unlike her, he stands up to remove his pants. He already feels awkward, weirdly terrified, and he doesn’t have the confidence to wrestle with his clothes in front of her.

Heat settles low in his belly as he undresses, but it’s not quite the same as his usual _excitement_ for sexual activities. He swallows, and his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth. After a moment he recognizes what’s happening, and his face practically catches fire, red spreading from his cheeks down to his neck.

It’s Fragile. Her eyes sweep over him, fingers flexing against her leg, and she’s…she’s turned on watching him undress, and he can _feel it_. Somehow, it never occurred to him she would be attracted to him like _that_. He knows she has to see something in him, find him attractive in some way to be so willing and eager to try new things, to overcome their issues. But this? Good, old-fashioned lust over his physical body?

It’s dizzying, and he barely manages not to collapse when he sits back down in just a pair of gray briefs. His heart is a panicked metronome, tapping frantically against his ribs as that warmth in his belly settles lower. Blood pools to his groin, and he can’t bring himself to make eye contact with the woman across from him.

“I was thinking,” she says, not missing a beat as her hands slide up her thighs, leaving tingling on Sam’s. “This is a lot like things we’ve done before, right?” Hands glide up her hips, over her belly. It’s unlike anything Sam has ever experienced. “We’re not exactly touching each other, but we’re not exactly… _not_ …either.” Her hands rise to cup her breasts through the bra, and he can feel both sensations, their weight in his palms and her hands on his pecs. He has no idea what to do with himself so he just sits, frozen, watching her hands roam over her body. She slides one bra strap down, then the other, and they gasp in unison when cool air from the room hits her bare bosom.

He’s still not sure whether this is good, but it’s definitely not _bad_ and his dick is into the show, if nothing else…but there’s _something else_.

Fragile is so confident and comfortable under his gaze. It’s a major contrast to her usual, outside self, covering her body and shying away from exposure. She approaches most regular things with head held high, though. The confidence radiates off of her, and maybe some of it is coming in over those things on his head, but he feels strangely at ease as she settles in to her motions.

Some of it is routine, things they’ve tried before, but at the same time it’s different because now he can feel what she does. He didn’t know arousal would taste so different to someone else, identifiable but foreign, fresh, intoxicating.

Hands settling again on her breasts, Fragile gives her nipples a gentle squeeze that jolts Sam. It zings to his dick, and the first small noise escapes him. He _really_ had no idea she was that sensitive, or how much she truly got out of just touching herself like that.

She spends a little time there, tracing, pinching, caressing, until they’re both breathing heavier and Sam feels he might combust.

He still doesn’t dare move, like he’s under some sort of enchantment that will break if he does, or a dream that will end, and for the love of all things good he does not want this to end.

There’s a damp spot on Fragile’s panties, and Sam realizes he can feel that too, weirdly. The mixed sensations from _feeling it_ and _seeing it_ set him on edge, tingling in his pelvis and the sudden antsy need to _move_. It makes him shift and squirm.

She takes note of this and slowly, deliberately drags the backs of her fingers down from her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. Sam feels the touch on his own skin, like there’s a trail of heat behind it and he can’t catch his breath. But he doesn’t feel suffocated. Winded, but in a good way, like running up a hill to catch a glorious sunset.

Fragile’s hands dip lower, rubbing her sensitive inner thighs as her thumb traces the line of her underwear. Sam does move then, mirroring the movement and rubbing his own thighs because he can’t _not_. He clenches his jaw against the moan threatening to rise from his throat. There’s so much _sensation_ happening, and he can’t believe _this_ is what he has been missing out on…only he knows this is more than what he would be getting if they even could have sex. Feeling what she feels, her arousal spiking as she watches him fidget and blush…it’s got to be so much better than “normal” sex. It’s like they’ve created a tantalizing feedback loop, Sam getting harder and squirmier as he feels Fragile drawn to him, Fragile getting hot and breathless as she observes him, and Sam in response feeling what she’s feeling. For a moment neither of them moves, just relishing the quiet moments that pass between them as neither dare breaks the spell of silence.

Until, finally, Fragile huffs a small, shaky laugh, and says, “Wow.”

Sam drops his face into his hands. Muffled, he says, “Wow.”

They sit together on the precipice. In the quiet room, Sam can hear his heart, blood thundering in his flushed ears.

“I want to see you,” Fragile says, softly.

Sam slowly lowers his hands and finally finds the courage to meet her gaze. Fragile’s cheeks are flushed crimson, lips wet from sucking and biting them. Her hands lie dormant on her thighs, but just seeing her tousled state makes Sam’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re…really beautiful,” he says. Immediately he wants to snatch the words back, even though he means them with all of his goddamn heart, and his hands start to tremble where they hover in fists at his collarbone. He doesn’t usually say much when they’re together, isn’t good at giving compliments or having the right words like she is.

“So are you,” she whispers.

He holds his hands tight, reminding himself not to hide behind them because _she wants to see him_. And he’s never been so certain that she meant it as he is now.

Fragile’s fingers skim over the cotton, slowly circling the damp patch, and Sam sharply intakes a breath.

He’s never felt… _that_ …before. A small whimper rises in his throat, and his hips twitch, fruitlessly seeking out friction. It’s more confusing because it doesn’t exactly feel like she’s touching _him_ , the sensations aren’t the same as when he jerks off. He doesn’t feel it in his dick at all, in fact, it’s…deeper. Almost like she’s touching some raw, sensitive part inside of him. It’s unfamiliar and weird as hell, and he really, _really_ likes it.

Tingles spread through his pelvis, heart somehow hammering even faster and he leans back on one hand, caving and covering his mouth with the other. He’s terrified of the noises that will come out of him if he doesn’t trap them.

“Shit,” Fragile mutters. Her hands are shaky but she keeps up the motion, still fairly steady and light.

He can feel how close she is – or at least, it feels like she’s close. It’s hard to tell where her sensations stop and his start. His hands and feet are going numb, blood drawn away from them to focus on the flush in his chest and the heat of his erection, plus whatever _else_ is going on down there.

Fragile finally pulls her fingers away, taking a moment to lean forward and catch her breath. Sam gasps for air. His legs and arms are so tense it almost hurts, but unlike when she actually touches him it’s a _good_ tense, riddled with vertigo and adrenaline like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff looking down.

“This is amazing,” Fragile says.

Sam nods like a big, dumb idiot, leaning back on both hands and sucking in air while he can. Everything is on fire. He can’t be long from completely coming undone, and it feels _awesome_. Even before, back when his issues didn’t interfere so much with his sex life, he never got to do anything even remotely as good as this. He’s fairly certain that’s not just his weird, forced celibacy talking, either.

Fragile wipes her forearm through the dampness on her forehead. “I think this is really working,” she says.

“Yeah.” Sam’s surprised by the pitch of his voice, low and full of gravel – and he’s even more surprised by the flood of Fragile’s arousal that surges through him when he speaks. Shit, she’s even turned on by him _talking_?

Fragile swallows and leans back a little, unfolding her legs and stretching them out, one on each side of Sam. It’s almost too close for comfort – almost – but she doesn’t touch him and looks much more relaxed.

At an agonizingly slow pace, Fragile brushes her hand down her weathered belly. There are parts of her that haven’t lost sensation, mirroring parts of him that have. The scars on his abdomen, where he hasn’t felt anything for years…they light up in sparks. Her fingers wander below the band of her underwear. Her hands are hot, and Sam’s transfixed on them, amazed at what he’s feeling as they move lower. Fragile keeps everything _trimmed up_ down there, and for the first time he gets to feel her sex at his fingertips. It’s almost clinically fascinating…until she dips just one finger into _wet heat_. Sam keens, her touch on her own skin fire inside of his body, and it’s weird and unexplainable but it feels like the absolute best kind of touch. He loses track of sensation everywhere except there, where she’s slowly, delicately, _torturously_ fingering herself and Sam all but flails backward, desperately trying but failing to keep his reactions inside as he pants and watches, awestruck.

So that’s what it feels like for her. Everything inside of him wants to pounce on her in that moment, take over and make her feel all the things he’s feeling. Even if he can’t, this is good – this is fucking _fantastic_ – and he can’t believe this is a thing he gets to experience. He can’t even be annoyed at the needy, wanton sounds punching up from his throat. They echo back to him through Fragile’s mind, making her hotter and him hotter in turn.

And then her slick fingers drag up to draw a slow, deliberate circle around her clit.

Sam moans, low and broken and unhindered. Fragile gasps at his sound, and her shaky fingers become frantic. She tries to hold back, he can see her trying to go slow, but her own desperation is winning out.

Everything draws to his middle. “Hnn…F-Fragile…” Sam’s breath gets ragged and short, in time with hers, as fire radiates from every part of his body.

And Fragile tumbles over the edge, dragging him with her.

He’s never felt an orgasm like this before; it clenches deep inside of him, rippling up all the way to his chest, pure, white-hot pleasure in every muscle tensing and twitching. His jaw falls open, eyes fluttering closed and he swears Fragile says something that sounds like “ _Sam!_ ” but it sounds so far away. Hell, as far as he knows he said something in return, but he can’t think, can’t hear, can’t move or even breathe.

As they come back down together, his airway finally opens again, and he gasps for breath, panting loudly.

Fragile’s face is shining – both with sweat and with an elation that transmits to him. With shaky hands, Sam reaches up to wipe sweat from his face. He realizes there are tears streaking his cheeks, and he quickly wipes them away with a surprised expression. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop trembling.

After a few moments, when their pants die down and their voices return, Fragile says, “You—you didn’t come?”

Sam raises both eyebrows. “Are you fucking crazy?”

Fragile’s eyes are on his briefs. Sam looks down at himself, and what he sees fills him with disbelief. Aside from a small damp patch, they’re dry. He’s still totally hard. He didn’t…? Because it sure as hell _felt_ like he did.

“Huh,” is all he can say.

For a moment, she looks disheartened. “Did you not…do you need more? Or was it not that good?”

“I—I thought I did,” he manages. His blush returns. “I felt…everything you felt. Except…I think it was kinda better? ’Cause I’ve never felt it before.”

“Oh. Oh!” Her cheeks redden as well, dopey grin spreading across her face. “So you could literally feel my orgasm…like it was your own?”

He nods enthusiastically. “I could feel it. All of it. Everything.”

A surprising pang of arousal crosses the transmitters again. It startles Sam so that he actually jumps. Fragile laughs. “Maybe we need to take a break.”

Sam concedes, peeling the receivers from his head with weak fingers and a tinge of regret. What had been a barely-noticeable connection in the beginning feels like a big void now, loss of contact he was genuinely enjoying. He puts them back in the box, and Fragile does the same with hers.

“When you’re up for it,” Fragile says, “I definitely want a turn on the other side.”

Sam swallows and says, “Quick break? Maybe a shower?”

One corner of Fragile’s mouth quirks up. “I like the way you think.”


	2. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even when they're close, they're distant. Time for that to change.

Fragile loves watching him in the shower.

The first time she told him, Sam folded in on himself, face going crimson and heat rushing to flood his cheeks.

Somehow, now it feels like home. He steps into the water she left running, air dryer abandoned in favor of wrapping a pristine white towel around her delicate frame, wet hair plastered to the sides of her face. She’s majestic when she steps out, pale hair and skin glistening with droplets. All Sam has to do is slide out of his underwear and step into the steamy stream. The hot water does wonders on his knotted-up shoulders, and soon Sam relaxes into a rhythm of lathering and rinsing.

When he’s just about to call it, there’s a gentle tap on the glass. Sam opens his eyes and sees Fragile. In one hand is the little black box, and on her face a questioning expression. Not exactly expectant, judging by the elevation of her right eyebrow, but hopeful by the slight curve of her smile.

“Those things waterproof?” Sam asks over the thrum of water.

“They are. Tried and tested.”

Sam slides the door open partway, and Fragile opens the box, presenting to him its contents. He hesitates, staring at the red rings of the transmitters for a long moment.

Fragile’s smile softens. “It’s okay,” she says. “Just thought it might be fun. That’s all it’s supposed to be.”

Sam’s wary gaze flickers between her and the outstretched box. After a moment, he accepts the tiny devices, one in each hand. “Ain’t gonna like, zap me, or…?”

She laughs. “You’re safe from electrocution. At least, from these little guys.”

He steps back with a hesitant nod, door slightly ajar still, and slowly affixes one to his temple. No zap. _Promising._ He attaches the next, and then he sees Fragile already has the other set on. Well, at least one of them has some confidence. Fragile slowly slides the door shut between them, lascivious grin on her lips.

He focuses on her eagerness, trying to draw from her confidence. It’s weird - a bit terrifying - to be on the transmitting end of their communication. He’s pretty sure they don’t translate actual emotions, but he feels more vulnerable in this state than if he were just to stand naked and let her scrutinize him...which he has done. More than once. With varying levels of comfort.

That same heat rises to his cheeks now. The _first time together_ nervousness, afraid she won’t like what’s behind the curtain once it’s pulled back. His hands start to shake. Even though he’s already washed his hair, he dispenses a small amount of shampoo and starts again. It’s all he can think to do while the connection forms. It’s the only way to hide the trembling, trying to put the nodes out of his mind and settle back into the routine. It doesn’t help that his thumbs keep bumping them as he washes, reminding him she’s there, waiting to feel what he feels. It was strange enough to be on the receiving end, to gage everything for himself. Now he has to gage it for her.

“I think it’s working faster than last time,” Fragile says. “Feels like I’m in a nice warm shower. Again.”

Sam’s mouth goes dry, despite the steam, and he exhales and focuses on rinsing the last of the suds from his hair. It slicks to his face and neck as he turns to face her.

“Good?” he asks.

“Faint,” she admits. “But warm. Nice.”

He nods. For several long moments he stands under the water, letting it run over his head and shoulders, trying to steady his breathing. He’s more nervous than anxious, and the rational part of his mind knows that whatever happens here won’t drive Fragile away from him.

But the _perpetually worried_ part of his mind?

That part is positively torturing him.

After a minute or two more, Fragile’s smile fades, and she steps closer to the shower and presses one hand flat against the glass.

“Hey.”

With an unsteady motion, he reflects her stance. Even with the barrier between them, he feels a buzz where their palms almost touch. He’s gotten to a point recently where he can do this, can almost be touching with something solid between them, but it still borders on painful, still sits a hairsbreadth from triggering.

For the first time ever, Fragile withdraws her hand. It’s hard to tell through the condensation, but her eyes look glassy. She leans her forehead against the shower, looking down at the floor.

“I had no idea.”

With abject horror, Sam realizes that, while she can’t feel his emotions, she can detect all of his physical sensations...and every muscle in his body tensed when he touched the glass where her hand rested. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be close to her – he does! Desperately, fervently. And he’s trying, but it’s so hard. She probably felt him tense and imagined all the wrong things, that he’s terrified of her, that he doesn’t want to be near her.

“I’m sorry, Sam. For the times I tried to…” she looks back up. Tears streak her cheeks. “Does it hurt when people touch you?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbles. “I mean, sorta.” He doesn’t know how to explain it, that the sensation itself isn’t painful but everything inside of him balls up tightly, like he’s being wrung out and hung up. That a hand on his arm may as well be a vice, clamping on and squeezing until his bones shatter. He’s tried, but he has simply never had the words.

Somehow, she smiles. “Thank you.”

His voice is weak and wavering. His strength falters, and for a moment he’s only anchored where his hand rests on the wall. “For what?”

“Trusting me. This can’t be easy.” She scoffs. “Hell, now I’m beginning to see just how difficult it is. You’re...amazing.”

Sam lifts his other hand to lean both against the cold glass, steadying himself. She didn’t run. She didn’t rip the receivers off and glare at him in disgust. She’s just...accepting it. Accepting him. Something wells up inside him, heavy and warm and impossible to name.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he finally manages.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just… _keep on keeping on_.”

She laughs when he scoffs and rolls his eyes, finally replacing her hands on the glass. 

“So,” she says, “this is what it’s like to be Sam Porter Bridges. The Great Deliverer.”

He blushes. “Stop that. S’weird.”

“Oooh!” She smirks and shimmies, then gasps with almost girlish delight. “Oh, how flustered you get!”

“Just ’cause you’re being a dork.”

“Uh-huh. Look at you, all pretty and bashful.” She puts one hand on her own cheek and laughs. “You blush _so hard_ , Sam.”

“Only when my girlfriend is being embarrassing,” he ribs.

“So if I was to be a little more serious,” her eyes roam down, and she’s close enough to look at him over the privacy screen, “say...mention how much I enjoy looking at you...your strong shoulders…”

His ears burn. He makes a conscious effort not to withdraw, letting her look him over. Her gaze leaves a trail of heat as it roams over him.

“...how I’ve fantasized about those plush lips...kissing them...having them all over my body…”

Sam feels like he’s been set aflame - and now he knows exactly what she’s feeling as she looks at him that way - and the hot water compounds it tenfold.

Fragile gasps and her eyes snap up to meet his, cheeks going pink. “ _Oh_.”

She must feel the blood pooling at his groin, feel his cock hardening via those little metal transmitters. Maybe she’ll finally understand how bizarre it is to literally experience the arousal of the other person.

“Oh,” she repeats.

Sam stands there like an idiot, staring at her with parted lips as he wills his heart to calm the fuck down.

“You’re so…” Fragile takes a deep breath, tongue darting out across her bottom lip. She presses into the glass, the tip of her nose flat against it. She lets go of her towel, which falls unceremoniously to the floor. Sam can only see her silhouette through the screen, but he’s acutely aware of her eyes all over his naked body.

“Would you touch yourself?” she asks.

Sam nods frantically, surprised by his own sudden enthusiasm. It’s the best idea he’s heard all day. He tries to do it like she did, to glide his hands slowly over his own body. It feels weird and showy, not at all sexy like when she did it. And he doesn’t know what to do really, winds up feeling silly.

Fragile doesn’t look put off at all, though, and the enraptured way she stares at him makes his dick twitch - which makes her shiver.

“Your nipples,” she says, eyes settling there.

Sam’s blush spreads, but he’s used to these kinds of instructions, can do with following her directions in the bedroom. This is familiar territory, more comfortable, grounding him. He knows now with a certainty that his nipples aren’t as sensitive as hers, but she clearly still enjoys the physical sensation, panting a soft moan as he takes one bud between his fingers and gently rolls it.

Her breathy pants on the other side of the glass send the heat lower, dick growing painfully hard while he watches her watch him.

Fragile is fidgeting, thighs rubbing together as her fingers curl against the glass. “So that’s what that feels like,” she says, clearly referencing his erect cock.

If it’s anything like his experience in her position, he knows it must feel exquisite, and his heart hammers faster. He’s barely done anything, and he feels like the slightest breeze might push him over the edge.

“Move your hands lower,” she says. She’s breathless, chest and face flushed.

Sam obeys immediately, but Fragile _tuts_ at him in a way that he already knows what she’s going to say next.

“Slower.”

It’s hard to do, but he’s always compelled to follow her instructions, and that’s doubly true now she’s aware of his every sensation, every touch. His fingers catch rivulets of water as they glide down his ink-stained torso. When they’re like this, when she’s telling him what to do and watching him with rapt attention, he can almost imagine what it’s like for her to be touching him. It makes him itch for it, crave the contact even if he knows he can’t take it.

Once his hands make their way to the juncture of his thighs, Fragile says, “Not yet.”

He freezes, fingers curling against his skin. Fragile’s chest is heaving with her breath, but she’s endlessly patient when it comes to getting off and even more patient when it comes to stalling him, making him go slow.

“Y-your thighs.” She whispers so softly it’s barely audible through the glass and over the rushing water, but Sam can see her lips move.

He trails his hands down, carefully avoiding his cock because if he touches it _she’ll know_ and _she’ll be disappointed,_ and her disappointment is not something he can stomach, so he does exactly as she says. He considers their connection, how his sensations are translating to her body, and he does his best to be delicate, just ghosting the tips of his fingers to that sensitive patch of skin on his inner thighs. He wants to grab, to squeeze and grope, but when he drags his fingers back up Fragile shudders and moans and leans on her arm against the glass, looking like she might collapse. It’s worth it, and he does it again and again until she’s babbling permission for him to touch himself, practically begging him to do it. For the first today, Sam feels a little swell of confidence. He makes her wait a little longer, drawing lazy circles with shaky fingers on that part of his legs until Fragile drops to her knees, panting, both hands on the glass.

Sam kneels too; the shower floor is hard, but it’s easier than trying to maintain his balance while he and Fragile methodically pick each other apart.

He considers more ways to emulate what she made him feel, how she touched herself with languid thoroughness. Using her own dirty tactics against her, he slowly traces the juncture of his hip, then moves to draw one finger up the shaft, methodically slow, circling the head, taking his time. It’s perhaps torture in its purest form, but Fragile stares at him through the glass with wide eyes and parted lips, her breathing shaky as she watches every movement.

“My god, Sam…”

He wraps his hand around his hard length, and Fragile makes a small sound. The rest is easy, desire guiding him and the water making the job easier.

Fragile’s hips rock in time with his strokes, even though there’s no friction for her, no physical contact. She huffs soft, whimpering breaths, completely undone. Her eyes stay fixed on him. Sam’s pulse races and he pumps faster, suddenly overwhelmed, and with his gaze locked on hers he comes onto the glass, a moan punching from his throat and echoing from Fragile.

They ride the waves together, barely managing to maintain eye contact, until Sam collapses against the glass, resting his head and breathing hard.

Fragile follows soon after, swallowing and smiling. “Holy shit,” she says. “That was awesome.”

Sam’s fluster is back, a full blush rising to his cheeks, but he feels good. He feels good because Fragile is sitting in a wrecked heap on the floor, looking ravished, and _he did that_.

“Kinda was,” he agrees.

Fragile scoffs. “No _kinda_. That was amazing.”

He allows himself a tiny, distantly-smug smile. “Okay. Yeah.”

Fragile reaches up – with shaky fingers, he notes – to remove the nodes from her temples. Once they’re off, a small frown crosses her face.

“You feel it too,” he says.

Fragile nods. “Feels…empty.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize…” She rolls her shoulders and reaches for her towel. “We’ll do it again soon, if you want.”

“I would really like that,” he says.

“I really like _you_ ,” Fragile says.

Sam watches her stand, realizing he should probably get out of the shower now. Before he does, he says, “You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading on! I updated the notes for Chapter 1, so please if you haven't already head back to the beginning and check those out. I felt some of the language in this fic needs a little clarity (as well as in my last DS fic because I've been thinking about it and realized some...things).
> 
> I hope you've all been enjoying this story so far! The last chapter will feature Higgs, and it will be a little more dicey but I promise it has a happy ending. For everyone. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Um.
> 
> There are some things to unpack here. First of all, I wanted to write Sam experiencing vaginal sex, but I don't know the right language to make him trans and that's a little out of my purview so I decided not to do that. And I can't even say where the idea for this stupid "neural transmitter" thing came from. Something to do with masturbation and voodoo dolls. I'm sure I subconsciously stole the idea from one of the awesome Good Omens fics I read somewhere around here.
> 
> So this is just chapter one. Yes, they're going to switch places (because Fragile deserves some loving, too!) and in a following chapter I'll bring Higgs in for the *real* fun to begin. Everything will remain soft and gentle because I love Soft Sam(TM) and, as much as I love to rough him up, I love seeing him fall apart being cared for so, there you go.
> 
> Also...maybe this is totally wrong, but I recently watched some behind-the-scenes stuff for TWD and saw Norman Reedus cover his face with embarrassment and whoo boy, let me tell you the fangirl in me fucking lost her shit. (it was after I wrote this, so it sparked something in me, some kind of strange satisfaction in seeing him actually perform actions I'd narrated? If that makes any sense). I'm so sorry, Norman. I'm sure you deserve better than that particular brand of objectification. I mean, I'm not gonna stop doing it, but I *will* apologize...lol!
> 
> Anyway I hope you all enjoy this sin. I'm editing Chapter 2 as you read this and shall have it posted shortly.


End file.
